


Penumbra

by pr0nz69



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Confrontations, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Manipulation, Self-Doubt, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 13:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15462240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pr0nz69/pseuds/pr0nz69
Summary: Grima is summoned to Zenith. Robin isn't ready to confront him, but when have Robin's needs ever mattered to the Fell Dragon?





	Penumbra

**Author's Note:**

> Written by pr0nz69 the younger.
> 
> I started this back when the fallen heroes were first revealed and never got around to finishing it until recently. It didn't really come out the way I was hoping, but I got sick of working on it. :3 So, uh, enjoy it, I guess? Gets kinda one-sided Chrobin-y at the end.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~["I'll Face Myself"](https://youtube.com/watch?v=dpzbr3vCBjw) intensifies~~

 

None of the Shepherds really know what to say when the smoke clears and the summoner steps back from the great pillar to reveal what should have been impossible: The Fell Dragon Grima, coopting the form of the tactician Robin, standing before them all, red-orange eyes lit like hot coals.

Lucina, overwhelmed, dashes off, and not even her father can call her back. For his part, Chrom draws Falchion, but the summoner holds out a hand and puts an end to that.

Robin only stares.

They're assured, earnestly, by the summoner that under contract, Grima cannot kill them. It isn't a relief to Robin, and he doesn't think the others are calmed, either. Even Prince Alfonse is reluctant to allow the Fell Dragon to remain within the Order, folding only to the summoner's insistence that they need every bit of power imaginable to face Embla and now Múspell. Robin can't refute that, either.

He hates that he can't.

The first week, nothing happens. Wherever it is he disappears to, Grima keeps to himself. It doesn't alleviate anyone's worries. Robin is more on-edge than he's ever been since arriving in this realm. Chrom tries to reassure him, weakly, that everything is fine, that Grima holds no power over them here.

In retrospect, Robin wishes he had heeded him.

When they finally do meet, it's in the worst of circumstances. It's nighttime, and Robin is alone, wandering the castle's gardens with his mind entirely elsewhere. It's like a bad dream when the subject of his thoughts manifests before him, leering through the darkness with a crooked grin.

"My, what a familiar face," the Fell Dragon says, striding through the rose bushes, his cloak catching on the thorns.

"Grima," Robin says in a low voice, realizing that he's trapped, that he's allowed himself to be perfectly cornered between two sides of castle wall. "What do you want?"

"A word," Grima says simply with a careless shrug of his shoulders. It's uncanny, Robin thinks, watching his own body be manipulated before him like some grotesque reflection. He takes a step back and nearly curses when his back hits stone.

"I have nothing to discuss with you," he says shortly, and turns to go, hoping he can slip by, hoping the summoner's contract will keep the demon from physically touching him, though he knows it won't.

It doesn't.

Grima shifts to block him, then slams him up against the castle wall, pinioning his wrists at the midpoint of his back with a single hand and forcing his elbows downward. Robin chokes on a breath.

“You won’t get away with this,” he says, stupidly.

Grima laughs, a low rattle in his ear. “There’s nothing to get away with. We’re merely going to talk.”

“I refuse. Release me.”

Robin cries out as Grima rolls his wrists higher, contorting his arms; in spite of his vessel, his strength is not that of a human.

"We're going to talk," he repeats.

“If you use your full power," Robin grunts, "you _will_ kill your host!"

“I know, I know--you’re very fond of this host, aren’t you?” Grima leans forward, his breath hot against sweat-dampened skin. “Don’t worry--I’ll be gentle with him. You, on the other hand…”

He grips Robin’s hair with his free hand and smashes the side of his head against the limestone, twice. “I’m not so partial to you. But I suppose you've figured that out by now?”

Robin can’t answer; his mind flickers from awareness as his mouth fills with blood. In another moment, warm streams of it leak from between his lips, dribbling down his chin to the ground below.

“I can’t kill you,” Grima goes on, undeterred. “The summoner has seen to that. The good news, for both of us, is that I don’t want to. I would not condemn the me of your world by crushing you here.”

Coming back to himself, Robin spits, and blood stains the grass beneath his feet black. “The Fell Dragon of my world has been destroyed,” he manages at length. “You’re already far too late.”

Grima hums. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. After all, so long as you exist, so, too, do I.”

“That isn’t true.” Without much conviction.

“I quite think it is, boy.” Grima’s grip on him tightens. “Are you afraid to admit our connection?”

Robin licks his lips, tasting the tang of battle yet unequipped to fight this one. “Our connection was severed the moment I slew you. We are as different as night and day now.”

Grima chuckles. “Night and day. For such a brilliant tactician, you use the most clichéd language! Or are you truly fool enough to believe the sun and the moon are wholly disconnected?”

Robin says nothing; despite his resistance, his head is already submitting to a familiar ache, and he can’t be certain it’s a phantom pain. He can hear Validar's rasping voice, can see the inhuman glow of his eyes, and he doesn’t know if that’s real, either.

“The sun nurtures the moon. Light nurtures dark. Good nurtures evil. How can you deny these truths? Despite all your bleating about 'fate' and 'righteousness', you understand as well as I that a shadow lurks behind every light.”

“No,” Robin gasps, “that’s not…”

“True? Spare me.” Grima fits a hand beneath his chin, and Robin realizes then that it’s ungloved, that the Mark of Grima is burning there like dark fire. The six eyes watch him in silent contempt. “Even you cannot deny your own darkest thoughts and fears.” Grima leans in close, nuzzling his cheek. “Here I am. You cannot deny me, Robin. I am right here beside you, always.”

Robin shudders, tries vainly to throw the demon off, but like a shadow, he stays. Still, he cries, in frenzied contention, “No--you're wrong! Something like you could _never_ be a part of me!"

Grima snickers, and Robin almost does, too. He sounds like a contrarian child asserting his own rudimentary sentiments as facts. He cannot deny Grima’s truth. He cannot, even to himself, claim to be without darkness. Grima, who he sacrificed everything to slay, is not wrong.

“I _am_ you,” the Fell Dragon says, tipping back Robin’s head so that their mouths nearly touch. “I am the shadow to your light, the corruption to your justice, the moon to your sun. Together, we are one. Accept me. Submit to me. Let us become whole again.”

“No--I _won’t_!”

“What a spoiled vessel you’ve become. You’ve been pampered by that naïve little prince you’ve sworn yourself to, haven't you? But, you know, you’ve killed him once before, that damn fly in my ear.”

Robin freezes. His heart pulses slow as if through water. The dream--the premonition--returns to him for the first time in years. He sees it all in vivid detail--Chrom’s face beading with sweat, the way his eyes pop as he staggers back, clutching at the shard of crackling magic stuck through his heart until finally, _finally_ , he falls dead. He remembers, too, Lucina’s judgement, accepting it, knowing it's what's necessary, what's _right_ , but not wanting to die, and maybe she senses that because she can’t do it in the end but maybe--yes--she should have.

He screams. Grima drops his face and with a smirk.

“You remember, I see. You remember how you betrayed him--”

“No--”

“--how, in spite of that, with his dying breath, he begged you to escape, to _live_.”

“ _No_!”

“You killed him with your own hands and yet”--curling his fingers around Robin’s throat--”you still have the _audacity_ to deny me? How brazen! How selfish! But, truly, who am I to criticize you? After all--"

"It's not true! You're _not_ me! You're _nothing_ like me!"

"We are," Grima finishes, "one and the same. You know it to be true. You know that, given the chance, we would kill Prince Chrom a thousand times over and still never be sated. _That_ is who we are. That is who we were created to be. It is your will as it is mine. You know that some part of you, lurking in your subconscious, desires that man dead above all else. Think on it."

Against his will, Robin thinks. It's true he has been jealous of Chrom, of the comfortable life he's lived excepting only a handful of years now well behind them. He's jealous of Lissa and Emmeryn, the family he was denied by some cruel stitch of Fate. He's jealous of Olivia, who charmed a prince and elevated her station from lowly traveling dancer to Queen of Ylisse seemingly overnight. He's jealous of her, and he hates that Chrom chose her, chose a girl he barely knew and not someone he trusted with his life, someone who was always by his side to help guide his hand, someone like, _someone like_ \--

Robin can see Validar clearly now, no longer an illusion but a fully formed apparition. “My child,” he whispers, extending a hand that, were he not restrained, Robin might have readily taken. “You are _perfection_. A more complete vessel for our Lord Grima could never hope to be conceived in this world. Come, close your eyes and let him complete you.”

"Close your eyes," Grima purrs. "Sleep now..."

Robin shouldn't, _knows_ he shouldn't, and yet it would be easier, _so much easier_ , and doesn't he deserve some respite?

"Sleep, sleep," Grima says. "All you have to do is close your eyes, and we will be one again, whole..."

There's no point in resisting any longer. He can't outrun himself, can't deny this darkness within him anymore.

Robin closes his eyes.

“Unhand him, fiend!”

And opens them again. Falchion’s cutting-edge hovers one stroke shy of his neck, but the mere touch of it on his shoulder sends Grima stumbling back with a hiss. In an instant, Chrom takes his place, one arm brandishing the dragon-tooth blade, the other extended toward Robin, who grips it with some level of desperation as, released from Grima's hold, he struggles to remain grounded.

“You cannot slay me in this world, Exalted,” Grima sneers, eyes nevertheless wide as he adjusts his cloak to recompose himself.

“Then I will see to it personally that the summoner disposes of you,” is the chilly response, and Grima scoffs.

“I would very much like to see you try,” he says, though with scarcely any of his bravado of a moment ago.

“Then stay,” Chrom says, evenly, “and we shall see which of us the summoner favors.”

Grima seems to consider this, eyes flicking to Falchion. Then he grimaces and turns on his heel. "How tedious you mortals all are."

Robin stays standing until he's out of sight, and then his legs buckle under him.

“Robin!” Chrom cries, and bends to catch him. “It’s alright. You’re alright.” He sits them both down, carefully.

“How long,” says Robin, head lolling in Chrom’s lap, “were you there listening?”

Chrom hesitates noticeably. “Only long enough to intervene, but… Robin--you’re bleeding!”

“You heard, then."

Another pause, and then: “Yes, some of it. Come, turn your head. Let me see it."

Robin can almost taste the bitterness in his own voice. “Are you disillusioned?” A cloth comes fluttering down over his face, pressed to his temple by Chrom’s firm hand.

“Disillusioned?" The question is so innocent it's almost painful." Is there some reason why I should be?”

Somehow, though he tries, Robin can’t put it into words.

Chrom says, "Do not take what that dastard said to heart. You know who you are.” He turns the cloth over and sucks in a breath. “Come on. We have to see Lissa.”

“I’m fine."

“No--you won’t bleed out on my watch. I won’t allow it.”

“I’m not without darkness, Chrom. None of us are.”

“This isn’t important right now!” Chrom almost snaps, anxious frustration coloring his voice. “No matter what that _thing_ said, I won’t let you die! As your king and leader, I order you to listen to me!”

Robin, in spite of everything, feels his temper flare. “I don’t want to kill you again, Chrom!”

“You--what do you mean?" Robin can hear the frown in his voice, and for some reason, it incenses him. "No--you wouldn't--"

Robin shakes his head, and regrets it, nearly overcome by a bout of dizziness. “That thing is a part of me!" he says anyway. "If you get close to me, it will--I will--I’ll--” He breaks into an ugly sob, breath hitching. “ _Please_ , Chrom. You’ve already suffered enough on my behalf. I don’t want to hurt you. Not again. Not like in Lucina’s future.”

He can feel a trickle of blood wind down his forehead, slip past his eye like a tear. With his bare fingers, Chrom wipes it up.

"You have a head wound," he says, softly. "You're not in your right mind, Robin. That's why we need to get you help. You're not going to kill me. I know that for a fact."

Robin grits his teeth. " _How_?" he demands. " _How_ do you know that? How can you be sure? This darkness is a part of me, Chrom! I was _made_ for him!"

“And you triumphed over him. You may cast a shadow just like all the rest of us, but you are _not_ him.”

“But how can you say that with such confidence?"

“Because I know you. Because I trust you. Because even at your darkest, you are _nothing_ like Grima. Look here."

Chrom takes his hand; he blushes. His glove is gently peeled off, and then Chrom holds his hand right before his eyes, forcing him to look. Though he expects to see it, the Mark of Grima is not there. It hasn't been there for years.

"Do you see? The Mark is gone. Grima is dead. And you’re still here. Robin, do not let that fiend deceive and manipulate you--it is what he does best. In this world where he has no power, he resorts to cowardly tactics like this in order to gain a foothold over us. We mustn’t let him. You may have been conceived as a vessel for darkness. And you may carry your own darkness within you--as do we all. But that you're here alive while the dragon lies dead proves that your connection has been severed. You are not him."

And it's such a relief to hear that Robin can't help it; he starts to cry, silently, tears mixing with the blood on his face. Chrom takes a clean corner of the handkerchief and tenderly pats his face dry.

“Chrom… Forgive me for doubting you. Forgive me for letting Grima play with my head. I should have trusted in our bond... rather than doubted it."

"Come now. There's no harm done--save for this. Now let's go find Lissa. She will have you healed and comfortable in a heartbeat."

In truth, Robin wants to lie here a little longer, cheek pressed against the warmth of Chrom's thigh. But he can't justify it, so he takes in a breath, savors it, and lets Chrom help him to his feet.

It's fine this way, he tells himself.


End file.
